Tomorrow is my birthday. I am, of course, about 36 – chokes on an unforgivable falsehood and gasps for air like a fish flung onto a riverbank.
My mind drifts back to a time when birthdays were less about existential reckoning and more about pure, unadulterated want. There was a toy aeroplane in the window of the local paper shop – the aeroplane, a magnificent thing with gleaming wings that seemed poised to take off at any moment. I had coveted it with a desperation that bordered on religious fervour, my longing intensifying each time I pressed my nose against the glass like a starving orphan outside a bakery.
Dad, poor man, had already been coerced, cajoled, and emotionally blackmailed beyond all standards of decency. His arm had been twisted so thoroughly he may as well have had it in a sling. In truth, he had no choice in the matter, I had seen to that. That aeroplane was mine in all but name.
But there was a catch. It was Friday, and things were tight. My eldest brother, the family breadwinner in a household that often felt like it ran on fumes, was due to be dropped off from work, and his freshly earned wages would serve as my birthday fund. I fidgeted and fidgeted, a human embodiment of an over-wound clockwork toy, waiting on the corner with Dad for my brother’s arrival. Every moment dragged, the anticipation stretching out like an elastic band on the verge of snapping.
At last, my brother appeared, and without a second’s delay, we marched straight to the shop, victory within reach. But fate, ever the sadistic playwright, had other ideas. The aeroplane was gone. Snatched away by some other fortunate child whose birthday, I decided in that moment, was thoroughly undeserved. The next best toy in sight was an absurd indulgence, priced far beyond our means.
And so, I had to settle. A lesser prize, a consolation offering, but I did not go down without a fight. Desperation breeds ingenuity, and my young mind, ever quick on its feet, concocted a brilliant scheme. Mr Spence, the shop proprietor, was partially sighted. We had a stack of Monopoly money at home. Why not solve our financial woes with a little creativity?
Dad did not share my enthusiasm.
Happy birthday to me.
Wording 